The Ghost of Oberon
by Alpha2099
Summary: The Doctor takes his new companion Damia on her first trip in the TARDIS. They visit a space station near the planet Uranus in the 22nd century, but all is not well when they arrive.
1. Part One

**Author's Note: **Even though this is my second story of my AU Doctor Who series (the first being "The Mind Ravager"), I actually wrote this one first. You may notice my writing is a bit different between the two. Again, this was written before Matt Smith became the Doctor, so think of it as an AU 11th Doctor. And for this story in particular, we have a bit of a crossover between Doctor Who and an old PC game called "Descent". Enjoy!

* * *

**The Ghost of Oberon**

PART ONE

Briscoe checked the auto-pilot mechanism on the dropship for the fifth time in less than an hour. He sighed heavily. It would be another thirty minutes before the ship reached Otomo, but then he wouldn't be bored anymore. There was a cargo hold full of platinum to be unloaded, and that would keep him busy for quite some time. Until then, however, there was nothing he could do. Dropships existed to serve two purposes: pick up cargo, and drop it off. Certainly not exciting work by any means, but he needed whatever money he could find if he wanted to move to the new colony on Europa. It didn't help that PTMC gave him pittance for a salary. _Perhaps I should try contacting Shiva Station again, _he thought. He grunted at himself. _As if I would hear something they haven't already told me._

He looked over at his co-pilot, Bova. He was asleep in his chair with his head tilted back towards the ceiling. Briscoe chuckled. It was amazing to him how these young kids, who should be full of energy, did nothing but sleep on the job. He had joined PTMC at the age of twenty and had given thirty years of good service, though his short grey hair and numerous wrinkles made him look more like seventy than fifty. Then there was Bova, who was in his mid-twenties and had no blemishes or imperfections anywhere on his body. Briscoe wished he could be that young again. He would settle to have dark brown hair like Bova. Most of all, he would be happier if Bova was awake. He leaned over and punched Bova on the arm. "Hey Sleeping Beauty," he said, "when's it my turn?"

Bova jolted awake. He immediately grabbed his arm. "Ow," he said in a thick British accent. "That was completely unnecessary, mate."

"Not completely," said Briscoe. "We're due to check in with Otomo soon."

"Really? It seems like we just left Oberon," said Bova.

Briscoe groaned. "Kid, sometimes I think you would sleep through Judgment Day."

Bova laughed. "You can do plenty of that after you retire, Briscoe."

"_If _I retire," Briscoe said with emphasis. "With the money I get from these corporate bigwigs, I'll be able to retire when I'm three years past deceased. In any case, it's time you made yourself useful. Call in."

Bova activated the comm unit. "Processing station Otomo, this is dropship 1A97A3 on return flight from Oberon requesting permission to dock."

A female voice chirped on the comm. "Copy that, 1A97A3. Proceed to Bay 3 for docking. Look sharp, you two. Dravis has made a surprise visit."

"Damn!" said Briscoe. "As if my day couldn't get any better. Thanks for the news, Susie."

"We're not happy about it here either, Briscoe," said Susie. "To be honest, we don't know what he's doing here."

"Maybe he wanted a nice retreat from his comfy office at Shiva Station," Briscoe said sarcastically. He motioned for Bova to switch off the comm. "I'll make sure the containers are in neat little rows," he said, rising from his chair.

"Check that all the lids are on tight," Bova added.

Shortly thereafter, the dropship pulled into Bay 3. Bova opened the cargo hatch and stepped outside. His gaze immediately fell on a man who stood out amongst the others. While most of the crew wore blue or orange uniforms, this man wore a nicely pressed black business suit complete with white undershirt and red tie. This was the standard attire for all PTMC executives and station supervisors, but the man's perfectly bald head gave his identity away instantly. Bova stood at attention. "Good afternoon, Mr. Dravis," he said. "May I say what an honor it is to have you here with us today."

"I would prefer you saved the formalities until after you've unloaded the cargo," Dravis said.

"Yes, sir," said Bova. "You'll be pleased to know we have a full load of platinum today."

"I'd be more pleased if it was off the ship and in the cargo bay," Dravis said sternly. He looked around. "Where's your partner?"

"You mean Briscoe? He was checking the containers before we docked." Understanding Dravis' implication, Bova went to the hold to unload the platinum. He expected to hear one of Briscoe's chiding remarks when he arrived, but to his surprise, Briscoe was not unloading the containers. He hopped inside. "Briscoe? Are you in here?" No answer. "Briscoe, come on. We've got to unload these. This is no time to be napping." As he said this, he looked down and saw Briscoe unconscious near the back of the cargo hold. His face filled with fear. "Briscoe!" he shouted. He tried shaking Briscoe to revive him, but it was no use. "Someone fetch a medic!" he yelled.

Inside the TARDIS, Damia Derbyshire watched in amazement as the time rotor floated up and down in the console. The notion of a machine that not only traveled through time and space but was bigger inside than outside blew her away. Even more surprising was the fact that she was traveling inside it. She looked across the console at the man who made this fantasy a reality. She thought back to the day she met him in Bowling Green, Ohio. He seemed a bit peculiar to her then with his long jade-colored overcoat and white buttoned undershirt with question marks on the collar. Perhaps what made it strange to her was the fact that he only looked 19, the same age as she, but he had knowledge far beyond his years. She knew now that even though he looked human with his dark brown hair, sideburns and glasses, even though he sounded human with a slight Pittsburgh accent, he wasn't human at all. He had no name, or at least she didn't know it. To her, he was called the Doctor, a Time Lord from the former planet Gallifrey. His hands glided over the controls like a piano player, effortlessly steering the TARDIS through the time-space vortex. He was amazing in every way, and now he was taking her on the trip of a lifetime. "Where are we going?" she asked.

The Doctor looked up from the console towards Damia. She was a nice girl, and fairly intelligent too, he thought. She wasn't necessarily drop-dead gorgeous, but he liked her long brown hair, and she wore glasses just like he did. He still couldn't believe that Bowling Green could produce people like this. _Well, for all I know they can't,_ he thought. _She's not from Bowling Green; she's just a student at BGSU. She's really from Dover, Ohio, which in some sense is less likely to produce a girl like her._ His thoughts were interrupted when Damia asked the question again. "Well," he began, "I thought I would ease you gently into the wonders of time and space." That statement was a bit dramatic, but he always did things like that. To him, this was just another day in his life, but to her, this was something that she had only deemed possible in science-fiction. He figured he might as well hype it up. "I've decided to keep our first trip within the Solar System and not too far away from your present time of 2008." He knew, of course, that flying the TARDIS was far from an exact science, but he wasn't about to spoil her dreams. He pulled a red lever on the console and with a loud, grinding whine the TARDIS began its materialization. A resounding thud signified they had landed.

"Is it safe to go outside?" asked Damia.

"It should be," said the Doctor. "Scans report normal oxygen levels for human life." He placed his hand on the viewscreen switch. "Would you like to take a peek, or just go outside and see for yourself?"

"Oh, let's just go outside, please!" Damia said excitedly.

The Doctor smiled. "Very well," he said. He opened the doors and the pair walked outside.

Damia's eyes were wide with excitement. "I don't believe it!" she said. "We're on a spaceship!"

"Actually," the Doctor said with an educational tone, "this is a space station. You can tell by the size of the hallway we're in and by the resonance of the power core. Personally, I can tell by these sickly grey walls. It seems to be an unwritten rule of the universe that all space stations have to have sickly grey walls."

Damia, however, didn't hear a word the Doctor said. She was too busy staring out the window into the vastness of space. It looked more majestic out here than back on Earth. "It's so beautiful," she said. As she looked out the window, a large blue orb rotated into view. "Doctor, look!" she said.

The Doctor peered out. "Ah!" he said with an air of triumph. "It seems I got one thing right." He pointed to the sphere. "That is the planet Uranus. You can tell by the vertical alignment of the rings."

"Amazing," said Damia. The Doctor was pleased by her state of awe. He moved away from the window and found a control panel in the hallway. He took his sonic screwdriver out of his coat and began tinkering with the panel. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm trying to see if I can access the BIOS for this panel. That way we can find out where we are, and more importantly, _when _we are," the Doctor said with a smile. The control panel beeped. "Aha!" he said. "That should do it. Now let's see what we've got." The panel read:

DATESTAMP: 07.07.2132 1415 GMT

LOCATION: PTMC PROCESSING STATION OTOMO, URANUS ORBIT

PLEASE STATE REQUEST

"There you are," said the Doctor. "We're about a hundred years in your future, Damia. I managed to get two things right today. I'm quite impressed with myself."

"What's PTMC?" she said.

"Post Terran Mining Corporation. The future of Earth's economy," said the Doctor. "In fact, to some degree, one could argue they own the world."

Damia laughed. "That's ridiculous. Nobody can own the world."

"And they'd like to keep everybody thinking that way." The Doctor used his sonic screwdriver again and brought up a schematic of the station. It looked like a series of levels of squares connected to a central column. "Of course, where they excel in business, they lack in artistic design," he said.

"Your comment has been noted," said a deep voice near the Doctor. The two turned to see Dravis at the end of the hallway with two guards at his side. The Doctor noticed the guards had their blasters drawn and were aiming at them. "I think you two should come with me," Dravis said.

The Doctor and Damia were led into Dravis' office. The Doctor began to sit down, but one of the guards touched the blaster to his back. "On second thought, I think I'll stand," he said to Damia.

"Now then," Dravis said, "who are you and why are you here?"

"Well, we're just a couple of travelers and we thought we'd stop by and see the sights," said the Doctor. He turned to Damia. "It's very pretty out there, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes," said Damia. "Absolutely wonderful."

"Enough," said Dravis. "This is a high-security processing station. Only PTMC personnel are allowed onboard. Trespassers are to be executed."

The guards proceeded to raise their blasters. The Doctor made a nervous laugh. "Well, that's a bit excessive, don't you think? I mean, we've only just arrived. We don't even know your name."

"Don't play dumb," Dravis said. "Anyone with half a brain knows who I am."

"Well then, I guess we have less than half a brain," said the Doctor. He put his arm around Damia and they smiled in unison.

Dravis growled. "My name is Samuel Dravis. I'm the head of PTMC mining operations within the Solar System."

"Indeed you are," said the Doctor. He thrust his hand into his coat pocket and produced a small black wallet. He flipped it open and showed it to Dravis. "Allow me to introduce myself. Material Defender 1032. I'm on special assignment from Shiva Station. This is my agent-in-training," he said, motioning to Damia, who waved gently.

Dravis bristled. He hated when Shiva did things without telling him, especially when it involved special operatives. Quickly he regained his composure. "Yes, of course," he said. "Forgive me, sir."

"Don't worry," said the Doctor. "You did everything by the book. My report will give you good marks. However, you understand that I must check out the rest of the station as well."

"Certainly," said Dravis. He paged the control center. "Susan, will you come to my office, please?" He looked back at the Doctor. "I'm sure you'll find everything's in order," he said.

"Oh, I have no doubt. Nothing but the best from PTMC," said the Doctor.

Susan entered the room. Damia noted to herself that even though it was a hundred years in her future, people still dressed relatively the same as her time. Susan extended a hand to the Doctor. "Susan Killian at your service, sir," she said. "My friends call me Susie."

The Doctor shook Susie's hand. "Very nice to meet you," he said.

"Will you show the Material Defender and his partner to a room?" asked Dravis.

"Yes, sir," said Susie. "This way, please." She moved to the door. "Oh, Mr. Dravis, you'll be pleased to know that Mr. Briscoe is in stable condition."

"Thank you, Susie," said Dravis, clearly irritated that she brought it up in front of the inspectors.

"If you'll just follow me, please," said Susie to the Doctor and Damia. They followed her out.

"Doctor," Damia said in a low voice, "that paper you showed Dravis was blank."

"It's slightly psychic paper," he explained. "It makes people see whatever I want them to see. It saved us from being shot on the spot."

"I'm thankful for that," said Damia.

The trio arrived at a set of living quarters. "Here you are, Material Defender," said Susie.

"Many thanks," said the Doctor. "Oh, just call me 'The Doctor'. It's less of a mouthful."

"Certainly," said Susie. "If you need anything else, give me a call."

"Actually, Susie, I was wondering if you could tell me about that Mr. Briscoe," the Doctor said.

"Oh, Mr. Briscoe fell ill during his shift today. It was a bit of a scare, but he's alright now."

"Good, good," said the Doctor. "Would I be able to see him?"

"Yes, sir. Sickbay is on Level 3."

Briscoe was lying on a bed in the sickbay. He hated being there. It was just as bad as being in a hospital. It was uncomfortably cold, and everything was bright white. It made him feel like he had died and gone to the afterlife, care of PTMC. The doctors had advised him to get some rest for a few days, but he knew if he did that it would only be a matter of time before he received a letter from Shiva saying his services were no longer needed. He was about to leave when the doors glided open and Susie walked in with the Doctor and Damia. "Oh boy," he said. "Visitors. That's exactly what I needed."

"This is the Doctor," Susie said.

"I've had enough doctors for one day, Susie."

"He's a special agent from Shiva. He says he'd like to speak with you."

Briscoe looked the Doctor over. "They got kids working as special agents now? Sheesh. Why weren't those jobs around when I was his age?" He paused for a moment. "Is this about my request for a raise?"

The Doctor and Damia exchanged smiles. "I was hoping to talk to you about the nature of your illness, Mr. Briscoe." He turned to Susie. "Could you give us some privacy?"

"Of course." Susie and the medical staff on hand left the sickbay.

"So, Mr. Briscoe," said the Doctor as he pulled a chair alongside the bed. "Tell me about what happened."

"We were getting ready to dock," said Briscoe, "and I decided to check that all the containers were secure."

"What were you carrying?"

"Platinum," said Briscoe. "Oberon's full of it. There's lots of money to be made in that these days, not that I see any of it. Anyway, I'm back there making sure everything's in order and I start hearing this…whispering."

"What sort of whispering?"

"I don't know. I couldn't make anything out. It seemed to be coming from all around me. I thought it was just air going through the containers, so I opened one to screw it on tighter."

"What happened after that?"

"After that…I don't remember. That must have been when I passed out."

Damia said nothing during the conversation. She kept an eye on the Doctor and noticed how his curiosity increased with each of Briscoe's answers. Something must be out of the ordinary; the twinkle in the Doctor's eyes was readily apparent. She adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat. "What do you think is going on, Doctor?" she asked.

"I'm not completely sure," said the Doctor. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Briscoe."

"I suppose this means I won't be getting a raise," said Briscoe. "Thirty years I've been working for PTMC and I've never passed out on the job."

"I suppose you were past due," said the Doctor. He and Damia walked out of sickbay and headed back to their room.

"So how did PTMC get so powerful?" asked Damia. She was curious about the nature of her future, even though the Doctor said she wasn't allowed to do anything to interfere with it.

"Initially, Earth's population growth prompted the development of colonies on Mars," the Doctor began. "From there, materials were needed to sustain these colonies and to allow transit between Earth and Mars. PTMC was formed in order to harvest materials from every planet in the Solar System so that the colonies would survive. No one anticipated they would be so successful. Now there are colonies as far out as the moons of Saturn and the human race is stronger than ever, all thanks to PTMC."

"You said they owned the world. How did they pull that off?"

"That wasn't hard at all," said the Doctor. "They were the only company capable of providing for the colonies. No one else had the money. PTMC knew that and exploited it for all they could."

Damia sat on her bed and stared at the green walls of the room. She lay back at looked up at the ceiling, which was also green. "What about Dravis? He seems like a futuristic Donald Trump to me."

The Doctor laughed. "Unfortunately, he's not that good. He acts tough, but I think that's because he wants to be higher in the ranks and hasn't gotten the chance yet."

"He seemed uneasy when you mentioned Shiva Station. Is that who he answers to?"

"Yes. Shiva is the official headquarters of PTMC, located in orbit around Earth. All the executives and higher-ups work there, which is why I'm amazed Dravis would come all the way out here." The Doctor got two glasses of water and gave one to Damia. He took a drink. "In fact, I'm surprised we haven't been caught yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we're obviously not special agents. In fact, I don't even know if Shiva has special agents, let alone if they're called Material Defenders. All Dravis has to do is get in touch with them and we'd be exposed." The Doctor took another drink.

"Maybe he's too scared to question his bosses," said Damia.

"Possibly," the Doctor mused.

Damia sighed. Whenever the Doctor said, "Possibly," it meant that he had his own ideas. "Why do you think he hasn't called Shiva?" she said.

The Doctor paused a moment. "I don't think Shiva knows he's here," he said.

Briscoe was back in his room looking out the window. He wished he could be home. Spending the rest of his life in transit between Otomo and Oberon would only last so long, and then what would he do? He shook his head. Perhaps it was best not to think about it. He poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat on his bed looking at the green walls. Green was his least favorite color. If he could, he would paint the whole room blue, but PTMC regulations dictated that no one could tamper with their rooms in any way. He took a drink. _Maybe I should just quit now,_ he thought. _I don't really need to move to Europa. Maybe I could-_

His thoughts were interrupted by a stinging pain between his eyes. He dropped his glass, spilling bourbon on the floor. He clutched his head with both hands and fell back onto his bed. The pain was unbearable. He just wished it would go away. As he lay there in agony, he thought to himself, _What brought this on?_

And then he heard it. The whispering from the dropship was back. It was inside his head, speaking to him like it did before, only this time it was much clearer.

_Invaders…_

Briscoe was unable to distinguish the voice's gender. It sounded like it was just floating inside his mind. He hoped it was all a dream. _I'm going to open my eyes, and everything will be fine,_ he thought. As if on cue, the pain stopped. He opened his eyes. The voice was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief, though he was a little shaken by the incident. He looked at his hands to see if they were shaking. What he saw filled his whole body with fear.

His hands were grey like stone.

"Of course, what really intrigues me is that whispering Briscoe claimed to hear in the dropship," said the Doctor.

"That could be anything," said Damia. "He thought it was air blowing through the containers."

"Not unless that dropship has a wind tunnel in it," the Doctor said. "I'm inclined to believe he heard _something_. The question is…what was it?"

"Maybe it was a ghost," Damia said jokingly.

The Doctor did not respond. He was lost in thought. "Possibly," he said after a moment.

Bova was relaxing in an armchair in his room. His eyes were closed and classical music was playing out of his speakers along the wall. He thought about using his vacation time soon. _I've always wanted to go to Pluto,_ he thought. _Maybe I'll spend a few days there._ The beeper on his door chirped. "Now who could that be?" he said. He opened the door and saw Briscoe standing there. "Hello, old chap," he said. "Come in."

"I need to talk to you about something, kid," Briscoe said. "It's about this morning on the dropship."

"Sure, sure," said Bova. "Can I get you anything?" he asked, pouring a scotch.

"No thanks. I'm fine."

"You know," Bova said, "I've been thinking. You could turn this in your favor. Tell PTMC that you're getting a bit long in the tooth and that they should give you a less intensive job. They might just decide to give you a nice pension and let you retire now."

Briscoe chuckled. "I doubt that," he said.

Bova hesitated a moment. "Why are you wearing gloves?" he asked Briscoe.

"I was a little cold," Briscoe replied.

"Is your conditioning unit not working? Mine's been on the blink for a few days, too."

Briscoe sighed. "I don't know, kid. It's just been one hell of a day. I think—" His sentence was cut off by that same stinging pain he felt before. He shut his eyes and groaned in discomfort.

"You okay, mate?" Bova asked. "What can I get you?"

Briscoe didn't answer. He moaned and grunted. Finally he opened his eyes. Bova was shocked to see that his pupils were gone. In fact, his eyes were solid grey. "Invaders," he said, though his voice had become more gravelly. "Interlopers…"

"Steady on, Briscoe," Bova said. He activated the room pager. "Bova to sickbay. I need a medical team in my quarters immediately! Repeat, imm—" His choked on his last word as Briscoe had both hands around his neck. He was thrown across the room and into a bookcase. As he slumped to the floor, the bookcase fell on him and killed him. Briscoe then ran out of the room and down the hallway.

"I'm hungry," said Damia.

The Doctor was reading the history of PTMC through the datalinks. He typed a few keys. "The cafeteria is on Level 7, two levels down from us," he said. "Want some company?"

"I'll just be a minute," said Damia. She opened the door and made her way to the lift. She paused outside it when she heard a groan from far to her left. She turned to see Briscoe trudging towards her. "Hello, Briscoe," she said. "Are you on your way to the cafeteria too?" Briscoe said nothing.

Damia felt that something wasn't right. She peered closer and gasped. Briscoe's face was completely grey; his eyes, lips, ears, everything. She repeatedly pushed the call button on the lift, but the doors would not open. Terrified, she ran down the hallway. Briscoe continued his relentless march behind her. She had no idea what to do, so she just kept running.

At the other corner of the level, she found a circular alcove with a door inside. She thought that might provide some safety. She ran inside and pounded on the door. It would not open. "Someone, please help me!" she cried. She turned around and saw Briscoe outside the alcove. She sank to her knees praying he wouldn't come any closer. Surprisingly, he did not. Instead, he pushed a few buttons on a keypad on the wall. A clear circular door rolled over the open space between them. Damia breathed a huge sigh of relief. Tears of fear rolled down her face. She was safe now, she thought. Then she heard Briscoe push a few more buttons on the keypad. A red light began flashing on the ceiling of the alcove. An alarm sounded. Damia was confused. Then she heard a computerized voice speak all around her:

"Alert. Alert. Jettison sequence initiated. Depressurization of Airlock 17 in ninety seconds."

Damia couldn't believe it. Her first trip to a space station, and she was about to be jettisoned out an airlock.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	2. Part Two

**The Ghost of Oberon**

PART TWO

"Alert. Alert. Depressurization of Airlock 17 in sixty seconds and counting."

Damia fell to the floor. Tears flowed relentlessly from her face. She was about to die in the vacuum of space. She turned away from the door so that she wouldn't have to see the cold, grey face of Briscoe staring at her through his empty eyes. _I have to keep it together,_ she thought. _The Doctor will save me. He'll come to rescue me._

The computerized voice spoke again. "Alert. Alert. Depressurization of Airlock 17 in thirty seconds and counting."

_Please hurry, Doctor,_= thought Damia. As if on cue, the airlock's alarm stopped blaring. She looked upwards. The red light was no longer flashing. She heard the computer's voice click on again.

"Jettison sequence terminated."

The clear door rolled away. Damia looked and saw that Briscoe's body was slumped in the arms of two PTMC guards. A third entered the airlock. "It's alright now, Miss Derbyshire," he said in a gruff voice. "You're safe with us." He offered his hand to Damia. She took it and he led her into the hallway.

The Doctor was heading down the hallway at a brisk pace. Damia noticed that he never ran if there were a lot of people around. She figured it was to retain a sophisticated image. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Oh, Doctor, I was so scared!" she cried, burying her face in his body. She sobbed heavily. "I thought you weren't coming!"

"I came as soon as the alarm sounded," he said. "I figured if anyone could get into trouble going to the cafeteria – apart from me – it would be you."

"That's not funny!" she said. "I could've died!"

"Yes, you could have," the Doctor replied. "What's important is that you didn't." He looked at the guards holding Briscoe's limp body. "How did you take him down?" he asked.

"Standard-issue paralysis guns," one answered. He was having trouble keeping Briscoe draped over his shoulder because he was significantly shorter. "Mind you, he seems worse as dead weight."

"That won't be a problem for very long," Dravis said as he emerged from the other corner of the level. "Throw him in the airlock."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on a minute!" said the Doctor. "Nobody's going out any airlocks."

"Doctor, this man killed a PTMC employee," said Dravis, thrusting an accusing finger in Briscoe's direction. "On top of that, he almost killed your agent-in-training."

For a fleeting instant the Doctor forgot he and Damia had aliases to uphold, but he recovered quickly. "Yes, Dravis, I'm aware of that. However, just look at him. He's clearly not well. Now, unless this sort of thing happens often, I suggest you take him to sickbay and run some tests."

Dravis was clearly displeased with being overruled. However, he had no choice but to follow the Doctor's orders. "You heard him," he said to the guards. "When he gets there, put him under heavy restraint and keep a 24-hour security detail on him. If anything happens, getting fired will be the least of your worries." The guards quickly headed for sickbay.

"Thank you, Dravis," said the Doctor. "I'll be down there shortly. First I need to make sure that Damia's okay."

"I'm good now, Doctor," Damia said. She was sniffling slightly but the tears had stopped.

The Doctor pushed her hair out of her eyes. "I know," he said. "You're a fighter. I just want to make sure you get back to your room safely." He winked candidly at her. Damia caught the signal and nodded.

"If you'll excuse me, Doctor," Dravis said, "I have things to attend to."

"Of course," said the Doctor. "Don't let me stop you." Dravis began to leave. "Oh, just one thing, Dravis. I'll need to send a report to Shiva as soon as possible about this incident."

Dravis stopped. He turned to face the Doctor. "That won't be necessary," he said. "I'll take care of that for you."

A slight grin crossed the Doctor's face. "Very well. Thank you, Dravis." He turned to Damia. "Let's get you back to the room."

The Doctor handed Damia a glass of water. "So what happened there?" he asked.

"Nothing much. It all happened very quickly," said Damia. She took a drink. "I was waiting for the lift to go to the cafeteria, and Briscoe was coming from the other direction. I spoke to him, but he didn't answer. Then I noticed he was all grey and…I just got frightened and ran." She hung her head. "I guess that makes me a little fraidy-cat."

"No, no," said the Doctor. "You did what any other human would have done in that situation."

Damia looked up at him. "You're just saying that because you're not human."

"No," the Doctor corrected. "I'm saying that because I've been around the block a couple dozen times. There are lots of things I haven't seen, but I'm accustomed to dealing with them. You, however, are just getting used to traveling with me. In time, it won't be so scary."

Damia took another drink. "You're right," she said. After a brief pause, she said, "I think you're on to something about Dravis. He was very eager to send that message for you."

"Which I'm sure will never be sent," said the Doctor. "I have yet to figure out why he's hiding from his bosses, but I'm sure he's hiding all the same." He pulled out his pocket watch. "Speaking of which," he said, "I need to get to sickbay. I can't keep Dravis waiting." He put an arm around Damia's shoulder. "Will you be alright here?" he asked.

"Yes. I think I'll get a little rest," she said.

"Good idea." The Doctor got up and headed for sickbay.

Briscoe was tightly strapped to a bed in sickbay. It was very crowded in there, but not because of a multitude of patients. In addition to Briscoe on the bed, there was a medical attendant checking his vital signs on various monitors, Dravis was impatiently pacing around the room, and a team of at least six bodyguards stood watch with their blasters primed. The Doctor strode in and surveyed the crowd. "When do the girls arrive?" he asked, grinning.

Dravis huffed. "I'm glad you could join us, Doctor," he said. "Is Damia feeling better?"

"Yes, she's fine. She's just a little shaken, that's all." The Doctor moved to Briscoe's bed. "Is he asleep?" he asked.

"No," the attendant said, "he's under sedation. We don't want him thrashing around."

The Doctor checked the straps. "If he started thrashing around with these straps, we'd all be in serious trouble." He opened one of Briscoe's eyelids. It was still grey, with a bit of milky white floating about. "No pupils of any kind," said the Doctor. "Very interesting."

"Do you know what's wrong with him?" asked Dravis.

"Not a clue," said the Doctor. "Not even Gregory House could figure this one out." He turned back to Dravis. "How does a man go from perfectly normal to perfectly _ab_normal in six hours?" he asked.

"I'm not a doctor," said Dravis, "but supposedly you are. You should be telling me."

"Unfortunately, I don't have much to go on," said the Doctor. "The only clue we have is the whispering he heard amongst the cargo. I suppose the first thing to do is check out the containers. Where are they?"

"They're in storage area 14. No one has gone near them since the incident," said Dravis.

The Doctor was led to a large storage room. The walls were grey like the hallways, and the Doctor made a sour face after making the observation. Harsh bright lights shone down from the ceiling, forcing the Doctor to either shield his eyes or squint. In the center of the room were sixteen containers from Briscoe and Bova's dropship. "Are you sure these are all the containers?" he asked his escorting guard.

"Yes, sir," the guard replied. "Sixteen containers. No more, no less."

"Good. I'll get to work, then, though I don't know what I'm looking for."

"If you need me, I'll be outside," said the guard. He walked out.

"Many thanks," said the Doctor. "Well, let's see what's behind Door Number 1." He used his sonic screwdriver to unseal the lid. Peeling it off, he looked inside. The container was filled to the top with chunks of platinum ore, each piece of varying size. The Doctor picked up a small sheet-like piece and inspected it under the lights. "Looks like platinum," he said. He put his tongue to it. "Ugh. Tastes like platinum." He held it up to his ear. "I'm not hearing anything," he said. He sighed. "Looks like this is shaping up to be one big waste of time. Nevertheless, I have nothing else to run with. I hope I can find something useful." He put the ore back and closed the lid. "One down, fifteen to go."

Damia was busily scanning the datalinks for general information about the history of Earth after 2008. She wasn't particularly pleased with what she read. Earth's burgeoning population prompted a series of violent wars across the world, people died of starvation and multiple diseases… It was a mess. She decided to surf the datalinks– she wasn't altogether sure if people 'surfed' the datalinks in 2132 – to see if YouTube still existed. The call button on her door beeped. "Come in," she said. The door slid open and Dravis walked in. "Hello, Mr. Dravis," she said. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Thank you, Miss Derbyshire," said Dravis, "but I'm actually conducting official business. I need you to recall the incident with Briscoe earlier today so that I can properly file my report to Shiva."

Damia suppressed a chuckle. Anytime Dravis mentioned sending a report to Shiva, she thought of the Doctor's theory. She offered Dravis a seat. "There isn't much to it," Damia started. "I was waiting for the lift and Briscoe came at me. I got scared and ran."

"Right into an airlock," said Dravis.

"I know it sounds silly, but I've never been on a space station before," she said sheepishly. Dravis' face remained expressionless. Damia didn't like that about him. It was obvious that he was an experienced businessman and he learned never to show emotion for fear of giving something away. _I can only imagine what he's like at home with Mrs. Dravis,_ she thought. _He probably doesn't even have a wife._

Dravis finally spoke to break the silence. "Indeed," he said. Damia took a drink of water. "Tell me, Miss Derbyshire, where did you get your preliminary education to become a special agent?"

Damia had to force back a spit take. That was one question she hadn't expected to answer. She assumed since they were alone, Dravis felt he could be a little bolder. Perhaps it was because she was a woman and he felt he could take advantage of her. She began to shake slightly. She hoped Dravis wouldn't notice, but at the same time she couldn't think of a decent lie. "Mars," she said at last.

Dravis looked intrigued. "My, my," he said. "Very impressive. PTMC doesn't take many applicants from Mars…"

Damia smiled, thinking she had pulled it off.

"…especially because there aren't any education programs to become a special agent," Dravis finished.

Damia's smile faded. "I…was exceptionally gifted," she said.

"Of course," said Dravis. He rose from his seat. "Thank you for the report, Miss Derbyshire. You've been very helpful."

"Can you tell me where the Doctor is?" she asked.

"He's still in the storage area inspecting the cargo," Dravis said. "If you'll excuse me…" He left the room.

_He suspects,_ thought Damia. _He tricked me, and I fell for it. Now what do we do? He'll probably kill us and dump us out an airlock._ She took a deep breath. _Stay calm, stay calm. I should probably get in touch with the Doctor._ She activated the room pager and requested the storage area. She heard a chirp on the pager. "Doctor, are you there?" she said.

"I'm here, Damia," he said. "I'm almost finished with the containers. I'm sorry to say that this has been a bust. There's nothing out of the ordinary with this ore."

"Well, I think we have bigger problems," she said.

"Oh, really? Like what?"

"I think Dravis suspects us of being frauds," she said with a worrisome tone.

"Good," said the Doctor. "It's about time. It doesn't matter anyway; he can't do anything about us."

"He could have us killed!" said Damia.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "He can't do that. He'd have to cover his tracks, which wouldn't be easy given the amount of people on the station."

"You don't know if they're all under his thumb! Maybe he's paid them to look the other way! You don't even know if your theory about him being here is correct!" she said frantically. She was practically on the verge of tears.

"Calm down, Damia," said the Doctor. "Obviously I don't know if my theory is correct. If I did, it wouldn't be a theory."

"That's not the point!" she said with a huff. Sometimes it was impossible trying to talk to him. She decided to change the subject. "So you have no idea what's going on?"

"Nope," said the Doctor. "I think I'll do some in-depth analysis on the ore. I found one that looks like a small rock. I'll get Orac from the TARDIS and see what I can find."

"Good luck with that," she said. She switched off the pager and went back to the datalinks, her mind slightly more at ease. What she did not know, however, was that Dravis had been listening through the door and heard the entire conversation. He smiled to himself as he walked back to his office.

The Doctor arrived back at the room with the platinum ore and a small rectangular box. It was completely transparent and the inside was a mass of circuitry connected to an orb with lights. This was Orac, a relatively portable supercomputer. The Doctor had, in his words, "liberated" Orac from a laboratory in the 24th or 25th century. He was going to be used by a group called the Federation (which had nothing to do with Star Trek; he always made a point to mention that) to bring down resistance forces. It was also said Orac could predict the future, but the Doctor had never seen any proof of that. Damia had once commented that the Doctor was smart enough without the aid of Orac, but the Doctor assured her that he wouldn't keep him forever. He said that he knew a group of seven people who could use Orac more than he did.

The Doctor placed a couple of leads on the ore and connected them to Orac. He flipped a switch and a low, steady whir emitted from the machine. The lights on the orb blinked in an alternating pattern. "How's it going, Orac?" said the Doctor.

"My operating system has passed all diagnostic checks," said Orac with a nasal-sounding voice. "I am functioning within acceptable parameters."

"Fantastic," said the Doctor. Damia knew it was only a matter of time before Orac's formal computer vocabulary would irritate the Doctor. The first time she was introduced to the Doctor and Orac, he was a pain to work with. A necessary pain, the Doctor later admitted, but a pain nonetheless. "Orac," said the Doctor, "I need you to analyze this platinum ore and state its composition."

Orac began to click. Within a few seconds, his job was finished. "Analysis complete," he said.

"What have we got?" asked the Doctor.

"This ore is primarily comprised of platinum," said Orac.

Damia laughed. The Doctor slapped a hand to his forehead. "Thanks, Orac. Now tell me something I _do_ know."

"There are also trace amounts of argon, carbon, lithium, and iron," Orac stated with an air of authority.

"Is there anything that could cause a human's body to turn completely grey? Any radioactive isotopes?"

"There is insufficient data to arrive at that conclusion," Orac said. "However, it should be noted that this ore has been exposed to a large amount of fusion energy."

"Fusion energy?" asked the Doctor. That didn't make sense to him. He furrowed his brow trying to understand Orac's statement. "How did fusion energy seep into the ore?"

"There is a very obvious explanation for that query," Orac said. The Doctor rolled his eyes. For a computer, Orac had an ego that rivaled most humanoids. Of course, many of the Doctor's companions had said that he had a big ego, too. It was possible that there wasn't enough room in the universe for two egos of that size. "All PTMC installations are constructed with a preliminary detonation of several fusion-powered explosives in the respective area. The surface is then excavated with more precision to form the standard mining facility."

"So the fusion bombs must have contaminated the platinum," concluded Damia.

"Affirmative," chirped Orac.

"But to turn a human grey _and_ cause him to hear voices in his head? That's what I call P.N.P.," said the Doctor.

"What's P.N.P.?" asked Damia.

"Possible, Not Probable."

"Correct. The probability of a platinum ore with this level of contamination infecting a human in the manner you describe is .00602018%," said Orac. "However, probability increases if the platinum originates from the Uranian satellite Oberon."

"Why is that?" asked the Doctor.

"Reasoning is not well-founded, but it is believed that a form of life on Oberon is primarily platinum-based. Said species is also believed to be extinct."

"Interesting," mused the Doctor. "That's certainly a new way to look at the problem. Unfortunately, I don't think Dravis will buy it."

The room pager beeped. "Doctor," said Susie, "I think you should come to sickbay. Briscoe's come out of sedation and he's becoming increasingly agitated."

"I'm on my way," said the Doctor. He put the ore in his coat pocket. "I'll be back soon," he said to Damia. "Oh, hello, what's this?" His hands had a thin layer of platinum dust from handling the ore. He wiped his hands with a tissue and placed it in another pocket.

Briscoe was struggling against the restraints on his bed. "Invaders!" he shouted. "Invaders!"

The Doctor entered the sickbay amid Briscoe's ranting. "How long has that been going on?" he asked Susie.

"A few minutes," Susie replied. "I think he's lost his mind."

"Possibly," said the Doctor, "or perhaps he has a new one."

"What do you mean?" Susie asked.

"Just a thought, that's all," said the Doctor. He moved over to Briscoe's bed, taking care not to get too close lest he provoke a violent outburst. "What do you mean 'Invaders'?" he asked Briscoe. "Who are the invaders?" Briscoe did not respond. He began breathing heavily and sucking air through clenched teeth. The Doctor checked the vital signs on the monitors. He couldn't get an answer; the machines were mysteriously unable to give any sort of reading. He turned back to Briscoe and withdrew the tissue he used to wipe his hands. He held the platinum stains up to Briscoe's grey skin. They were almost identical. "Okay, that's curious," he said, "but I need something more." He adjusted the monitor with his sonic screwdriver. It now showed the veins in Briscoe's body.

"What are you doing?" said Susie.

"I'm checking his blood flow," said the Doctor. His eyes widened. "That's impossible!" he said. Something from the corner of his mind prompted him to look around. He didn't feel right, but he soon knew why. "Why aren't there any doctors in here? For that matter, what about the security detail Dravis assigned here?"

"I gave them the night off, Doctor," said Dravis as he emerged from the doorway. Two guards accompanied him. "Of course, for all I know you're not really a doctor, considering you're not a special agent like you claim to be." The guards raised their blasters at the Doctor.

"Dravis, we can deal with this later," he said. "Right now you've got a bigger problem on your hands."

"Stall tactics don't work on me," Dravis said with a touch of ice.

"I'm serious!" pleaded the Doctor. "Look at the monitor of his blood flow."

"What am I looking for?" Dravis asked, though it was clear he didn't care.

"His blood is turning into platinum. For that matter, his entire body is becoming platinum. I don't know why, but if you'll give me time…"

His sentence was cut short by an ear-piercing screech emanating from Briscoe. The Doctor, Susie, Dravis, and the guards gripped their ears and slumped to the ground in pain. Briscoe tore through the restraints with a sort of superhuman strength. He hopped off the bed and his head jerked upwards to the ceiling. It began to twist and contort, eventually losing its human shape. Susie ran out in fright. The guards had their blasters pointed at Briscoe but were unsure what to do.

"Fire, you fools, fire!" shouted Dravis. The guards primed their blasters, but then Briscoe's head lowered. It had taken on a more bulbous shape and there were no visible ears or nose. Instead there was a huge yellow eye with an iris as black night in the center where his face would be. From the chin area protruded a set of mandibles. With amazing speed he reached the guards and put a hand around each of their necks. He threw them across the room and their necks broke with an audible cracking sound.

Dravis used that moment to slip past Briscoe and escape. The only person left in the room was the Doctor. He stood up to face this strange creature that seemed to have assimilated Briscoe's body. Fighting it would do no good, but he couldn't run, either. The creature was blocking the only way out. He had to think of something quickly. The creature screeched again. Its body language suggested it was about to rush the Doctor.

"This _can't_ be good," the Doctor said emphatically.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	3. Part Three

**The Ghost of Oberon**

PART THREE

The creature screeched at the Doctor. It seemed to be sizing him up before attacking. _Take your time,_ thought the Doctor. _Hopefully I'll think of something soon. I usually do._ He didn't have many available options. He wasn't a fighter, at least not anymore. Many incarnations back he was skilled at the art of Venusian karate, but that skill was no longer with him. He could try to run past it, but after seeing how quickly that thing killed the guards, he was very apprehensive about that plan. _Perhaps I could distract it with the sonic screwdriver,_ he thought. He shook his head. _No, I think it likes high-pitched noises too much. It would probably think I'm trying to mate…or something._ He sighed. He had only one weapon left in his arsenal: his mouth.

"Okay, now, let's take a deep breath," he said to the creature. "I don't want to hurt you. I just want to understand you." As he spoke, he stayed perfectly still so as not to give the creature reason to attack. He pointed his hands toward his body. "I'm the Doctor. I'm here to help," he said while opening his hands to the creature. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Invaders," the creature hissed. "Interlopers."

"So you say," said the Doctor. "Who are the invaders? Are you referring to the humans?" The creature began to hiss and make sputtering noises. "Easy there, chief," he said. "Speech doesn't come naturally. Work with Briscoe's mind. You'll get it."

"Bris…coe," said the creature.

The Doctor's face brightened. "That's it," he said. "Keep with it. You're almost there."

"Briscoe…is…human." The creature pointed at the Doctor. "You…are…human."

"Funny story, I'm actually not," said the Doctor. "I look human and sound human, but I'm actually a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey."

"Time…Lord." The creature looked the Doctor over. "You are…friends with humans."

"Well, it's not quite that simple," the Doctor confessed. Realizing that this dialogue was an excellent step in bridging the gap between the creature and himself, it was also starting to go off-course. He tried to bring it back under his control. "Who are you?" he asked. "Where do you come from?"

"I…am…from Oberon," said the creature. "My name…is…Briscoe."

"Somehow I doubt that," said the Doctor. "I think Briscoe's mind is blending with yours. Your thoughts are starting to overlap. I know it's hard, but I need you to push him aside for the moment."

The creature paused. Its mandibles began to twitch. "I…have…no name," it said. "I am from Oberon."

The Doctor nodded. "I'm to assume, then, that your species is not particularly advanced, at least not enough to name your fellow…what would you be called? Oberonians? Oberians?" He thought this over. "Oberian sounds better. I'll go with that."

"Oberian," said the creature. "I am…Oberian."

"Okay, it's official," the Doctor said. "Now for a more difficult question. How did you manage to absorb Briscoe's body like that?"

"I…was…scattered," the Oberian said. "Briscoe…made me whole."

_Very cryptic,_ thought the Doctor. _Of course, I'm sure he understands exactly what he's saying, even if he doesn't know how to say it._ "What about the rest of your species? Where are they?"

"I do not know," said the Oberian. "I have only recently been conceived."

"Ah!" said the Doctor. "You're still an infant, then. Perhaps Briscoe was serving as a makeshift incubation unit for you, giving you nutrients and allowing you to develop." He sighed. "If that's the case, then that means Briscoe won't be coming back. Of course, that also means he's been gone for a while." He put a hand under his chin and began pondering. "If you've only just been born, that means you probably don't know much about your own people."

"I can feel…a great emptiness," said the Oberian. "I feel as though…I am incomplete."

"A hive mind, perhaps," said the Doctor. "Well, that answers another question." He braced himself for the probable reaction he was going to get from the Oberian. "I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but your people are dead. 'Extinct' is the actual word."

"Extinct?" asked the Oberian.

"Yes. You're the only one left. Of course, I realize I could be wrong, but from what you've said it looks like-"

The Oberian screeched. The Doctor covered his ears and fell to the floor. It was apparent to him that the Oberian did have some sort of emotional connection to its species. As he lay on the floor protecting his ears, the Oberian fled sickbay. The noise stopped instantly, and the Doctor immediately scrambled to his feet. "Wait!" he said. "Come back!" He ran into the hallway and looked around. There was no sign of anyone. "Damn! That thing is fast, I have to admit." He sighed and contemplated his next move. He paused when he heard a faint squeak. It seemed to be near him, but he had already observed that no one was in the hallway. There wouldn't be mice on a space station, so what was that sound? He heard the squeak again. It was coming from his left. He moved a few steps over and stopped. Another squeak, this time louder. It sounded like it was coming from the outer wall. The Doctor knocked on the wall. Silence. He moved his hand to the right and knocked again. He was intrigued to discover the knock was hollow. He took his sonic screwdriver out of his coat and ran it over the area where he knocked. The wall separated to reveal a small recessed area. The Doctor looked towards the floor to find Susie huddled in the corner sobbing. "It's okay, Susie," he said, extending a hand. "The creature's gone."

Susie looked up and pushed her thick black hair out of her eyes. "Are you sure?" she asked, taking the Doctor's hand.

"Yes. I saw it run off." He held her close to comfort her. "That was very resourceful of you, finding a secret hatch."

"I've always been on top of the latest safety protocols," she said. The Doctor gave her a tissue to wipe her eyes. "This is covered in platinum dust," she said.

"Oops. Sorry." The Doctor took it back and handed her a clean one. "I need to find that Oberian before it kills someone else," he said.

"You learned its name?" Susie asked.

"Well, I think we reached a mutual agreement," the Doctor replied. "Truthfully, I'm not so much concerned about it killing somebody as I am about it being killed _by_ somebody."

Susie sniffled. "I can't believe it's happening again," she said.

The Doctor's face turned from comforting to moderately irritated. "You mean this has happened before?"

"About six months ago," Susie explained. "We were entering a new section of the mine. One of the pilots on the dropship said he started hearing voices. No one thought anything of it. The doctors gave him a clean bill of health. Then his skin started turning grey like Briscoe's."

"What about the mutation?" asked the Doctor. "Did that happen too?"

"No, but he was just as violent. He killed two medics and a guard." Susie felt pained just telling the story.

"Where is this pilot now?" the Doctor asked, though he felt he already knew the answer.

"After he killed the medics and the guard, three other guards came in and paralyzed him," Susie said. "No one knew what to do, so we contacted Shiva for help. Dravis got the message and instructed us to kill him."

The Doctor growled. If there was any doubt that Dravis wasn't on the level, that doubt had officially been removed. "What did you do with the body?" he asked with a hint of venom.

"We threw it out the airlock," Susie said.

"That explains why he was so quick to order Briscoe out," said the Doctor. He was getting angrier by the second. He looked up and the down hallway for a control panel. When he saw one, he strode to it.

"What are you doing?" asked Susie.

"I'm going to get in touch with Dravis," said the Doctor. "I think I know where he'll be. In the meantime, I need you to do me a favor. Go back to the control center and send a message to Shiva. Tell them that processing station Otomo is off-limits. No ships may enter or leave. I don't want that creature escaping…yet."

"Shiva will want a reason for designating the station off-limits," Susie said.

The Doctor pondered Susie's statement. He knew she was right, but he didn't know what to say. If they knew the truth, they'd probably send a battle cruiser to destroy the station. However, a poorly concealed lie would yield the same result. He hung his head in defeat. There was no answer he could give. "Let's hope they forget to ask for a reason," he said.

Damia was pacing around the room, her state of worry growing with each passing moment. She hadn't heard from the Doctor in almost two hours. _What if something's happened?_ she thought. She decided the best way to take her mind off that morbid thought was to strike up a conversation with Orac. She headed for the table where he sat, but before she could turn him on, the door slid open and Dravis entered. "Mr. Dravis," she said. "I thought—"

Dravis raised a hand to silence her. "The game is up, Miss Derbyshire. I know that you and the Doctor are not special agents from Shiva. I don't know what you really are, and frankly I don't care, because very soon…what you will be is dead."

Damia tried to keep a brave face. "Not if the Doctor has anything to say about it," she said.

Dravis chuckled. "For your information, he won't. He's dead, or at least he will be if that creature in sickbay hasn't had its way with him already."

Damia tried to suppress her shock. "Dead?" was all she could get out.

"Yes, Miss Derbyshire. Fear not, though. Once I've dealt with you and the creature, your bodies will be together as they float onwards to Pluto." Dravis snapped his fingers and two guards entered. "Gentlemen," he said. The guards primed their blasters in unison and raised them at Damia. She began to cry.

"Please don't do this, Dravis," she pleaded.

The room pager chirped. "Hello, Damia? Are you there?" It was the Doctor's voice.

Damia opened her mouth to speak, but closed it for fear that Dravis would kill her on the spot. She glanced in his direction. He nodded in approval. "Yes, Doctor, I'm here," she said feebly.

"Judging by that pause, I'm guessing Dravis and his band of merry men are there with you," said the Doctor with just a touch of smugness.

For the first time, Dravis' face showed surprise. Damia grinned. If there was one thing the Doctor was good for, it was doing the unexpected. Dravis cleared his throat. "Doctor," he said. "You're alive. I'm…impressed."

"Hah. Such unwavering confidence, Dravis," scoffed the Doctor. "No wonder you're a successful businessman."

"Indeed I am, Doctor. That's why I have a proposal for you." Dravis' businesslike air had returned. Damia wondered if he was telling the truth or if this was just false bravado. "I'll let Miss Derbyshire live if you agree to leave quickly and quietly."

"Oh, come on, Dravis," the Doctor said admonishingly. "You can do better than that. Besides, we have a little problem on our hands, namely an Oberian is running loose on this station."

"I can handle that on my own," said Dravis.

"You mean like you handled the last one?" the Doctor said. "Sorry Dravis, no deal. For all I know, that creature is the only one of its kind. I won't let you commit genocide to protect your bottom line."

"You just don't understand, Doctor," Dravis said. "The human race depends on PTMC to provide them with the mineral resources they need. Without us, they wouldn't survive."

"I'm fairly certain they'll get by without any fancy jewelry," the Doctor said. He was clearly becoming agitated. Damia figured it wouldn't be long before he made his 'Listen here' statement.

"I refuse to put my business in jeopardy because of one miserable creature," Dravis said, clearly becoming irate himself.

"Listen here, Captain Rogaine," said the Doctor. Damia forced herself not to laugh. "You don't even know why those two pilots got this way in the first place."

"You're right, I don't. I also don't care," said Dravis. "It hasn't happened before. These are the only two cases we've had."

"That's because you were in a different part of the mine," explained the Doctor. "When you detonated those fusion bombs to build the place, you contaminated the very platinum you were hoping to sell. Some of it was minimal and no one was affected. Other parts were more heavily concentrated. Now, this creature is platinum-based. Just like humans break down into carbon when they die, it breaks down into platinum. The fusion bombs reactivated the proteins and nucleic acids, but not fully. It has to take a living body to survive because it's incomplete. It's basically a ghost of its former self."

"That's very touching, Doctor, but I fail to see why I should give a damn," said Dravis.

"Just think about it, Dravis. You reanimated a dead species. With proper testing and monitoring, you could refine those fusion bombs and make Oberon flourish again. You would become so much more important than those men in suits at Shiva. You would have the power to help life on Oberon."

Dravis was silent. Damia could tell he was mulling over the Doctor's offer. "What about the mine?" he asked.

This time it was the Doctor's turn to be silent, but not because he was in thought. He knew Dravis wouldn't like what he was about to say. "You're going to have to close it down," he said.

Damia expected Dravis to be furious, but like always, he remained calm. "For how long?" he said.

"Indefinitely. Perhaps permanently."

"Not good enough, Doctor," said Dravis. He waved his hand slightly to the guards. They closed in on Damia and grabbed hold of her. "If you want to see Miss Derbyshire again, come to airlock 21." The group left with Damia kicking and screaming.

"Hold on, Damia. I'll be there," the Doctor said before switching off the pager.

Susie sat in the control center staring out into the vastness of space, a canvas of stars returning her gaze. She was holding a bottle of brandy she had shipped from Tethys. It was against regulations to drink on duty, but today hardly followed regulations. She took a gulp from the bottle and prepared to send a message to Shiva. As her hand wavered towards the comm unit, it chirped into activity. She was startled at first, but instinctively answered the hail. "This is PTMC processing station Otomo. Identify your vessel and state your intent," she said nervously.

"Processing station Otomo, this is PTMC executive liner 337-771 on approach from Shiva Station. Request permission to dock," said a man's voice.

Susie froze. Executive liners were only used by the highest PTMC authorities, and they never left their luxurious office suites at Shiva. If they were making a visit this far out, it had to be important. Even if it wasn't important, no one disobeyed the executives unless they didn't care about their job. She was about to grant permission when she remembered the Doctor's instructions. He didn't want the creature to get loose, and she felt the same way, but was the Doctor so important that he could override PTMC, the unofficial rulers of the Solar System?

"Processing station Otomo, respond please," said the man.

Susie felt she had no choice. "Permission granted 337-771. Proceed to docking bay 9." She switched off the comm and took another gulp of brandy. She began to wonder if she made the right call. It was too late to change her mind, but the Doctor would be furious if he found out – unless, of course, she told him herself. She had overheard his conversation with Dravis and knew where he would be. She set the comm unit for airlock 21.

The Doctor arrived at the airlock and was greeted by Dravis' security detail. They patted him down for weapons. "I don't carry weapons," he said flatly. "I prefer to take a more amicable approach to solving my problems." One guard withdrew his sonic screwdriver and held it in front of the Doctor. "That's not a weapon," he said, rolling his eyes, "but I'll make it one if you'd be so kind as to bend over."

"They're only doing their jobs, Doctor," Dravis said sarcastically. "Let him keep that," he said to the guards. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it's not as powerful as an argon-cyanide laser." He motioned to Damia on his left. "Have you considered my offer?" he asked the Doctor.

The Doctor chuckled lightly. "Absolutely not. Have you considered mine?"

Dravis smiled. "It seems one of us has a problem," he said.

At that moment, Susie's voice sounded on the comm. "Doctor, I was about to send your message, but something came up. We might have a problem. I'm really sorry," she said.

"It's alright, Susie," the Doctor said. He could tell she was distressed. "What's wrong?"

"There's a PTMC executive liner making its way to docking bay 9. I had to let them through," she said.

The Doctor smiled. "Thank you, Susie. You did the right thing." He looked at Dravis. "You're right, Dravis. One of us does have a problem. It seems Mom and Dad caught you borrowing the car without permission."

Dravis looked worried. A light sweat formed on his forehead. "That's impossible!" he said. "I covered my tracks perfectly. I gave my associates a watertight story to explain my departure."

"Oh, Dravis," the Doctor said. "For as successful as you are in the business world, you forgot the simple rule that everyone looks for an opportunity to get ahead. Did you really think they'd keep quiet?"

"Pardon my ignorance," interrupted Damia, "but what does all this mean for the Oberian?"

"Nothing good," said the Doctor. "If PTMC sees it, they'll kill it and throw it out the airlock just like Dravis. They're not quite as malicious as he is, but they're just as human. They prefer to shoot first and ask questions later."

"Exactly," said Dravis. "And that's what I intend to do!" He drew a small energy pistol from his side and aimed it at Damia. As he did this, the guards aimed their lasers at the Doctor. "Any last words, Doctor?" he asked.

As if on cue, a group of blue-uniformed soldiers appeared on both sides of the hallway. Dravis' guards turned to face them, but they were struck down by white laser bursts. Dravis was immediately surrounded and his pistol was taken away. A tall bearded man wearing a business suit similar to the one Dravis wore appeared behind the soldiers. "Samuel Dravis, by the power vested in me as CEO of the Post Terran Minerals Corporation, you are under arrest for conspiracy against PTMC, the murder of a former dropship employee, and the attempted murder of these two people," he said. "You will be taken back to Earth where you be placed on trial." The soldiers took Dravis to their ship.

The Doctor sighed in relief. "Many thanks," he said. He held out his hand to the executive. "I'm the Doctor. That woman behind you is my companion Damia."

The man's face was stone. "I don't care who you are. From where I'm standing, you are trespassing on a high-security PTMC installation."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Not this again," he said.

"However, in light of what has happened on this station," the man continued, "I would be willing to let you go with a stern warning _if_ you agree to never set foot on any PTMC installations for the remainder of either of your lifetimes."

The Doctor looked at Damia. "We can do that, can't we?" he asked.

"Most definitely," said Damia.

"Very well, then," said the man. "You have thirty minutes to leave."

"Just one thing," said the Doctor. "There's a creature running loose on the station. I need to locate it before it harms anyone."

"That won't be necessary," the man said. "It has already been captured by my squadron. We will take it back to Earth where we can properly examine it. During that time, all activity within the platinum facility on Oberon will be suspended."

The Doctor thought this statement over. It wasn't what he wanted, but it was all he was going to get. "Okay," he said. "Come on Damia, let's retrieve Orac and be on our way."

The time rotor floated up and down as the TARDIS hummed peacefully. Damia looked at the Doctor as he adjusted the flight controls. "Do you think they meant what they said? About examining the creature, I mean."

The Doctor sighed and stared into nothingness. After a moment he turned to face her. "Yes," he said. "They told the truth and nothing but the truth."

Damia sensed where this was going. "But not the whole truth," she said.

"Indeed not. When they said they would examine the creature, what they meant was that they'll kill it and perform an autopsy. In the matter concerning Dravis, he'll be found guilty of his crimes, but PTMC will agree to let him off scot-free in exchange for his resignation as head of Solar System operations. He'll get transferred to some out-of-the-way place that no one's ever heard of, and that will be the end of it."

Damia sighed. "Not a very happy ending," she said.

"Not by any means," said the Doctor. "Moreover, it's a dismal way to get you acclimated to space/time travel."

"It wasn't all that bad," Damia said. She put her arm around the Doctor. "I still had fun, despite nearly being thrown out an airlock and blasted to death."

The Doctor grinned. "Well, that sort of thing always happens to me, so you'll have to get used to it." He adjusted a few more controls. "Ready for another trip?"

"Absolutely!" squealed Damia. "Where are we going?"

"Who knows?" said the Doctor as he wildly threw some switches. "Half the excitement is in the surprise."

THE END


End file.
